Chapter 2

I carried my proud son. I held him for almost half an hour as he kept boasting about everything Uncle Laki and Uncle Domino had taught him—until sleep finally overtook him.

I gently laid him on the soft bed, careful not to wake him. His long, soft hair fanned out over the baby-blue pillows beneath his little head and on both sides. I placed pillows around him for extra support.

I kissed my son’s small forehead before getting dressed and leaving the room with Irithel.

“Rith, watch over him, okay? Just call me if he wakes up or looks for me. I probably won’t be gone long—”

“Even if it takes a while, that’s perfectly fine with me. I’ll take care of your adorable son!” she cheerfully interrupted.

Maybe what I’m doing isn’t right. I have a son, and yet I’m heading to a bar to enjoy myself? Irithel told me to loosen up and just live a little.

Fine. Just this once.

I left the house and got into my car, parked in the one-car lot beside it. Most of the houses here don’t have fences, except for a few very large ones. This is a subdivision, after all, and the homes share similar designs.

My car isn’t anything fancy; it’s a middle-class vehicle.

The drive to the upscale bar wasn’t long. I hadn’t realized it catered exclusively to wealthy clientele. It turns out this was the location Irithel had recommended.

Oh, that woman.

I have no choice. I don’t know any other bars nearby, and I’m not really into this scene. Luckily, it’s the last day of the month tomorrow, which means I’ll be receiving my salary.

After finding a space in the bar’s side parking lot, I immediately got out.

I was wearing a skintight maroon tube dress, thigh-length, paired with five-inch nude pumps.

The DJ’s pounding music from inside gave me chills; my heartbeat matched the rhythm.

As I walked toward the bar entrance, I noticed a couple kissing in a corner, a fight breaking out in front of me, and a man cornering a woman by an expensive car.

It was dark, but I could still see enough of my surroundings. A few lampposts provided some light, so it wasn’t pitch black.

I shivered. If all this was happening outside, what would it be like inside?

I was about to enter when a bouncer blocked the spacious entrance. Neon lights flickered in every corner.

“ID, miss?”

I frowned at the request.

Why didn’t the other girls who came in get checked? Do I look underage?

I unzipped my rectangular black wallet, pulled out my ID, and handed it to the oversized bouncer.

He scrutinized it.

“Twenty-two years old? Sorry, Miss. I thought you were underage because you look seventeen.” He handed the ID back, stepping aside.

Seventeen, huh? I was sixteen when Lazarus accidentally got me pregnant. Did I really look eleven back then?

I continued inside.

Bodies pressed and swayed on the dance floor. Flickering lights made it hard to focus, the smell of smoke mingled with strong alcohol and overpriced perfume. Some people lingered by round sofas, glasses of liquor on the central tables. Expensive sofas lined the edges of the dance floor. I looked up at the metal rails of the second floor and saw people watching from above. VIP floor, I guessed.

I hadn’t even had a drink, yet I felt dizzy from the smells alone.

I came alone; Irithel didn’t need to accompany me. I told her I’d meet someone, just to justify my visit. I planned to stay only an hour. Nothing here interested me.

It was risky, yes. I don’t drink, so no one could take advantage of me—but I had no one to take me home if I got sick. I didn’t want my baby to worry. He cried once when I had just a fever.

I sat on a stool near the male bartender, who was busy mixing drinks. Behind him were rows of whiskey, vodka, rum, and more.

I looked around, bored, until my eyes widened.

He was on the second floor, holding a glass, watching carefully. I knew his gaze could find me.

I nervously faced the bartender, who had just poured a drink. Without hesitation, I took the glass and sipped it continuously.

The bartender’s eyes widened, and a man next to him got angry—it was his drink.

I blinked twice as the alcohol hit me. My throat burned, my vision blurred slightly, but my sanity remained intact. Cold down my throat, fiery in my system.

“M-Ma’am, it’s, uhm—hard liquor. I suggest—”

“I don’t need your suggestion.”

He went silent and prepared a new drink for the angry man.

I glanced again at the second floor. Instead of being surprised to see him staring at me, I just stared back.

I wasn’t bitter. I simply didn’t like him. We never had a relationship, not even friendship. Six years ago, he told me he didn’t want to see me—and that’s exactly how I felt about him. Mutual dislike.

I couldn’t believe I had begged him for a moment to talk, to tell him about my baby, and he refused. After I saved him, that was all he gave me in return? Gratitude, my foot.

Depressing.

Looks like I need some wine. Domino can pick me up; Irithel is watching my son. Laki can’t come either—Lazarus is here.

“I want the hardest liquor you have,” I commanded the bartender, who hesitated.

What? Did I look seventeen again? The bouncer overreacted earlier. Tss. Maybe he was just overprotective.

I crossed my legs and rested my elbow on the counter.

In the past half hour, I’d consumed almost five glasses. My vision blurred, my throat dry.

“O-One more, please.”

“B-But Ma’am, you seem intoxicated.”

“Oh, shut it. I want more.” I snapped. If I begged, he wouldn’t serve me.

Annoying. Every glance at the second floor revealed him staring. I thought he didn’t want to see my face.

A few men were also glancing my way, whispering. Maybe because I looked underage. Perhaps that’s why he noticed me.

What I’m wearing isn’t childish. Why do they think I’m underage?

I don’t care.

I looked up, surprised he was gone. Where did he go? Maybe my vision was blurring. Good—I didn’t want to see him anyway.

“H-Here, Ma’am.”

The bartender handed me a glass. I tilted it to drink when a strong hand gripped my wrist, pulling it away and nearly spilling the alcohol.

“What the—” I turned, quickly covering my mouth.

His hand gripped mine tightly. He removed the glass and returned it to the bartender, who looked unsettled.

I turned back to the man ruining my evening.

Sweat glistened on his disheveled brown hair. He wore simple black clothes and a leather jacket. His eyes, nose, and lips reminded me of my son.

“Let me go!” I demanded.

“Get down,” he ordered, gruff.

I tried to pull away, but he didn’t release me.

I was sitting quietly, and he wanted to pull me off the stool? Who was he, and why approach me? Trouble-seeker, clearly.

I remembered last month at the bank. Luzon was tailing him, my son insisted he was his father. The child even had a photo—I didn’t know whether Laki or Irithel gave it to him.

Maybe that’s why he approached me. Curiosity.

He hadn’t changed. Despite seeing him only in magazines, he became one of the world’s youngest CEOs at twenty-one. Three years have passed; he’s twenty-four now.

I stayed seated, rooted. His face still looked grumpy, annoyed at everyone.

“N-Need something from me?” I asked, avoiding his gaze. I looked at dancers, the bartender, and patrons. Finally, I looked at Lazarus Cavanaugh’s snobbish, handsome face.

“Yes, Miss Belmonte. We have business to deal with,” he said formally, as if addressing a press conference.

“You’re dealing with the wrong person, Mr. Cavanaugh,” I replied, equally formal.